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Distantly, John is a bit shocked by his own behavior. When he toys with Martin, it's usually at something of a remove. His own wants — to whatever extent he might have them — are focused outwards, and subsumed beneath layers of theatricality and playful artifice. It's a scene, or a game, and Martin's pleasure is so paramount that his own often seems more incidental: a fortunate coincidence, but not exactly the point. Yet here he is, allowing himself to grab Martin by delicious handfuls for the sheer sensory pleasure of it, to mark him someplace entirely new not just because of novelty's familiar potency, but because he wanted to know how it would feel. Because he's forgotten to care if his curiosity or simple enjoyment might easily be mistaken for something obscene.

And it's fucking working, is the thing. If the noises Martin is making are anything to go by, he's having a hell of a good time. He's certainly giving no indication that he wants John to stop. The way he says John's name gets his attention, though — there's a familiar, plaintive note that has always made John's breath catch in his chest.

He lifts his head, blinking as if snapped out of a daydream. Whatever else he intends can wait; he suddenly needs to kiss Martin properly, and he lets go the undershirt so he can brace both hands against Martin's chest as he leans forward, meeting Martin's lips with single-minded focus. The kiss is thorough and deep, and for a moment, he allows himself to think of nothing else: the subtle sweetness of Martin's lips after the salt tang of his body, the intimate closeness of every little noise he makes. Then he draws back an inch or two, opening his eyes enough to take Martin in, his hooded gaze both attentive and considering as he thinks about Martin's desperate grip on the couch, and what he's actually trying to do here, and how little it looks like what they've already done before.

"You can touch me," he offers, bending closer, though their lips don't quite meet. "It's okay." He can't think of any cautionary clauses Martin might actually need to hear; he cannot imagine Martin trying anything that would put him off. It's been ages since John conceptualized restraint as a convenient safety net for some imagined potential indiscretion on Martin's part, and he doesn't think they need to pretend it is serving that purpose here. It is only a game if Martin wants to play it, and it's only due to that possibility that he adds, "If you like."